


Heimweh

by pxrainey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Art, Artist Harry Potter, Breaking Up & Making Up, Businessman Tom, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, M/M, Painter Harry, Painting, Post-Break Up, Sane Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxrainey/pseuds/pxrainey
Summary: "Still, Tom couldn't help but feel honoured, if not a bit sheepish. Dedicating an entire artwork to someone, despite all the trouble they have put you through, it must really mean a lot to an artist."or Tom gets to visit Harry's art gallery by chance. There is more to his ex's paintings than lilies and landscapes.





	Heimweh

_ Und du und ich, wir waren mal wir, und sind jetzt nichts. Du da, ich hier. _

Meeting Harry again was something Tom had neither wanted nor planned. 

When he left the building in which he had just discussed various business deals, he breathed in the air of Berlin, somehow fresh but suffocating at the same time. Being the CEO of Salazar Co., his own media company, he had come to Germany for a business meeting with Gellert Grindelwald, which had been quite profitable for him.

Now that he was done with all of his appointments and he didn't have to leave for London again for some days, he finally had the time to explore the foreign country a bit. He called for a taxi and told the driver to bring him to the centre of the capital. While being driven, he watched the mixture of modern art and older, ornate buildings go by, busy people on their way to work as well as tourists enjoying the lively atmosphere. 

The proud half-smile never quite left Tom's lips as he was thinking about his undeniable success that had brought him here, and to so many other countries in which he had been able to further increase the significance of his company.

So yes, he was feeling great, at peace even- right until he saw the poster. He only glanced the name for a second before the car had driven past it, but it made the smile vanish from his face. 

"Harry," he murmured to himself, then he cleared his throat and said to the driver, "Erm, excuse me, Harry... Harry Potter? Do you know who... why that name was just on that poster?"

The man looked at him through the rear view shortly and answered with a strong accent, "Ah yeah, Harry Potter... an artist. A painter from England, I think. You can look at his pictures in, uhm, a gallery?" 

Tom gritted his teeth. It couldn't really be... But at the next red light he looked around, only to see another poster with this name that he knew only too well on it. "Harry Potter - 'Heimweh'. Juli - August 2019." Under it, there was the name of the gallery where the exhibition of the paintings took place, as well as an example painting- lilies, some colourful and some in black and white. 

Of course, Tom thought, lilies. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. It had to be him. Harry Potter, the painter from England, his former best friend, his first lover and the only one who had ever brought him close to feeling something that one might call heartbreak, Harry Potter. Of course Harry had chosen lilies to represent his exhibition, when he had never really stopped grieving the death of his mother Lily.

A wave of feelings rushed over Tom, the kind of feelings that he had long abandoned ever since their breakup six years ago. He sighed deeply. Suddenly there was a longing inside of him, one that he could neither grasp the origin of, nor a way to get rid of.

"This, uh," he started before he could stop himself, "This gallery... do you know the way there?"

"Of course, Sir. I could drive you there right now." 

"No! Ah, well I..." Tom paused to think about the offer. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad thing. After all, he was in a foreign country with nothing to do but wait for his departure. He had always enjoyed looking at art, and he knew that especially Harry's paintings had something beautiful, special about them. If there was any other reason for his longing to go see this exhibition, he decidedly ignored it, and in an impulse he said, "Yeah okay. Let's go there." 

\- - -

"Heimweh. German: A feeling of longing for one's home during a period of absence from it."

Tom stared at his phone with a deep frown on his face. If he wants to come home so badly, he should just fucking do it already and stop whining about it, Tom thought, infuriated. _ Homesick my ass. _

After all, it was his stupid decision alone to move to Germany not even a month after their breakup without any warning whatsoever. Tom had to find out about it through Ron Weasley, for God's sake. The memory made his blood boil again, and his desire to turn around and leave grew.

But something inside of him made him stay. Maybe a part of him knew that he had to do this, even if it was just for the sake of closure. (After six years, that was probably due.) So he pulled himself together and walked towards the building of the gallery, in front if which he had been standing contemplating for an embarrassingly long time now. 

The first thing Tom saw upon entering was the painting of the lilies. It was bigger than he had imagined it from looking at the poster, and all the details captured Tom for some moments before he was able to look away and take in the rest of the exhibition. 

Harry had chosen a nice place for this, he had to admit. The reception was on the left side of the lily painting, which was placed in the middle of the room. After paying for the entrance, Tom walked towards the right side of the room where all the other paintings were displayed in a long, broad hallway, accentuated beautifully by the large windows there. The hallway was plain white as not to distract from the artworks, except for the many vases filled with various colourful flowers decorating the gallery as well as giving it a nice fresh smell. Tom was pleasantly surprised. 

He was by far not the only one there; apparently Harry had made quite the name for himself. The many visitors all seemed to be some sort of experienced artists themselves, judged by how they were praising or evaluating Harry's paintings professionally, all of them intrigued. Tom felt like he didn't really belong there, but nevertheless he started walking through the hallway.

The first painting he saw was rather unsettling: a neighbourhood of several almost identical houses, every one of them as boring and plain as the next. It was almost completely painted in grey tones, the only sign of life was a crow on top the house in the foreground with the number 4 next to the door. Though Tom had never been there himself, he knew that had to be Privet Drive, where Harry had been forced to spend most of his childhood at. He had talked about this time every now and then, and the stories had always made Tom's blood boil. The painting next to that one showed exactly why; a small boy was curled in on himself on top of a scruffy bed that took up most of the dark room. His overlarge, ripped clothes hid most of the child's body, but it was still apparent that he was unusually thin. His face was mostly covered by the messy black curls and the broken glasses, but looking closely, Tom thought he could see tears on the boy's cheeks.

It took Tom's breath away for a second. He could do nothing but stand there and stare while memories of Harry talking about his life at the Dursleys' kept coming to his mind. He remembered how all that time, he had only ever reacted to those stories with a rather unhealthy amount of anger and a desire for revenge. Not once had he ever felt moved by it, had never even really understood it all- but now, looking at this visualisation of Harry's most disturbing and private memory... it made Tom feel closer to him somehow, despite all that distance between them.

Shaking his head, Tom forced himself to look away and continue. He recognized the next image immediately. Hogwarts had never looked more beautiful: on a calm summer day, painted in thick, vibrant oil paints with such a love for details- a stark contrast to the previous two paintings. This boarding school was where Tom had first met Harry, and also where Harry had felt truly at home and welcome for the first time in his life, as he had oftentimes said. Though he had never voiced these thoughts, Tom actually felt the exact same way after the many years in the orphanage that had been equally as dark as Harry's childhood. 

Thinking about their time at Hogwarts, all the mischief and the fun they had had despite quite some trouble, it made a small smile appear on Tom's face.

Most paintings after this one had a similar flair to them. Sunny, comfortable, soft. Some were rather abstract, others perfectly realistic. A portrait of a boy with red hair and freckles grinning at a dark skinned girl with messy brown curls - Harry's best friends, of course. A dark picture of a long haired man in prison clothes - his innocent godfather. Then, one of a woman with dark red hair and a man who looked just like Harry, dancing. Tom remembered the picture Harry must have used as a reference for this painting of his parents, it was in a photo album the two of them had looked at once. After that, there were more canvases filled with flowers, landscapes, parts of Hogwarts, the town where Tom and Harry had lived together after graduation.

Tom somehow got lost in the peaceful atmosphere, captivated by memories of better times, enamoured by every single brushstroke and pop of colour...

And then, his eyes took in the next painting, and all at once his heart skipped a beat and he stopped in his tracks.

Tom's head snapped and he scanned the room for anyone in the hallway looking at the painting in front of him, who saw what he was seeing - but no one noticed it, no one realized that... that this was his face on that canvas right there.

He blinked a few times just to make sure. Yes, that was definitely Tom himself. The painting showed the side profile of a young man playing the piano, and Tom unmistakably recognized his own face, his hair, his standard white shirt and black pants, even his hands, the room inside their shared flat from back then and the elegant black piano that he had spent months saving money for. It was the first time he looked at the title of a painting, as if searching for an explanation, but he didn't understand the words “Barfuß am Klavier.”

Okay, well that was... wow. Tom didn't know how he was supposed to react to that. This gallery represented Harry's life, all aspects of it which had formed him into the person he was today in either a good or a bad way. Experiences which were still so important to him that he had to express his strong feelings by spending several hours and weeks and months bringing them onto the canvas... It seemed obvious now that the time he had spent together with Tom - almost ten years of his life out of which they had been a couple for three - of course that had to be one of those shaping aspects. 

Still, Tom couldn't help but feel honoured, if not a bit sheepish. Dedicating an entire artwork to someone, despite all the trouble they have put you through, it must really mean a lot to an artist, Tom contemplated while continuing his way through the hallway to look at the next-

As it turned out, there wasn't just the one painting about him. No, in fact- and Tom felt a shiver running down his back at realizing this- it looked like the entire next, and apparently last, section of the exhibition was dedicated to him, or rather their relationship.

There was one painting of two hands intertwined, one of them large and pale and the other one more delicate and dark, and in the background Tom recognized the small living room of, once again, their flat. 

Another one showed Tom's face again: a big portrait painted with so much detail and precision that he didn't notice the other faces at first. Surrounding his own, there were four other portraits of young presumably handsome men, but those were all done carelessly, rushed, barely distinguishable. Tom was the only clear image, and the artwork was called “Die erste Liebe,” which he knew meant the first love, and his heart made an unwelcome jump.

Then he saw Harry's face for the first time in years. It was the next portrait, and it looked as beautiful as ever, but also pained, with a single tear coming from his startling eyes. The tan skin made for a nice contrast against the pale hands on Harry: one touching his face, a thumb in his mouth, the other wrapped around his throat. Tom wished he knew what the title “Das Leid in Leidenschaft” meant, but just from the feeling of this particular artwork he understood that it was meant to represent the rather rough times of their relationship.

Tom had never thought of himself as someone who'd really feel guilt as such, but the sinking feeling that spread in his chest while thinking about his tendencies to be too possessive and controlling over Harry back then, perhaps that came close to it.

He was thankful the exhibition didn't end on such a negative note: the final painting was incredibly pretty for it showed just Harry. Tom remembered the scene perfectly since he was the one who took the picture used as a reference for this. The familiar body was laying in bed, covered by nothing but Tom's green bed sheets. Harry's smile was bright as he was laughing at some stupid joke Tom had made. His golden skin seemed to radiate an all surrounding warmth- or maybe Tom just imagined that because the memory of actually being there with Harry made this feel all the more magical.

After appreciating the beauty in front of him for some moments, he felt a sudden urge to leave and get rid of this vulnerability quickly. And just before he turned around to go, he heard it. That voice, like honey, right behind him.

“Guten Tag, Sir. Vielen Dank, dass Sie gekommen sind, um meine Ausstellung anzusehen. Hat sie Ihnen denn gefallen?” He didn't know it was Tom yet, probably only thanked him for coming, or otherwise he wouldn't be speaking so casually. 

Tom swallowed. He knew he had to face Harry now, had probably expected it subconsciously since he'd walked in here, but still he hesitated.

“Sir, geht es Ihnen gut?” 

He imagined there had been a polite smile on Harry's face before, but as soon as Tom had fully turned around, it was gone. Harry's eyes widened, and Tom wondered how he had managed to spend six entire years without them, without this purest, brightest, most captivating shade of green.

Those years felt like a deep abyss spreading between them now, as Harry took a step backwards.

Tom gulped, and he let his eyes travel over his ex's body at last, real and right in front of him. Harry hadn't changed much: he had kept his silver lip piercing, his hair was a bit longer than before but still as chaotic, and his glasses seemed to be the same ones still. His green checkered shirt was tucked into his pants, which accentuated his rather feminine curves. 

Tom's breath hitched when he noticed something that was, in fact, not covered by Harry's rolled up pants: a messy tattoo of a ship just above his ankle. Automatically Tom looked down at his own ankle, where his pants were hiding the matching tattoo to the ship, an anchor. It had been a stupid idea and Tom still regretted getting it, but they had been drunk and in love and those idiots Fred and George Weasley had gotten Harry a tattoo machine for his birthday… so now they were both stuck with it, and stuck with each other. Tom just wouldn't have thought that Harry would go around having that ship on display for everyone to see.

But, well, after today it was pretty clear to Tom that Harry was quite open about their relationship. At that thought, he looked up at the paintings again, and then at Harry. 

"Uhm," he cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence between them, "Hello."

Harry did not greet him back. “How- How did you know-?” 

“I didn’t. Know. About the exhibition. I just saw a poster on the street after a meeting here and I…” He trailed off, still not having a real explanation for why he’d wanted to come here.

“Oh," Harry nodded. "Well… thank you for coming then." He scratched the back of his neck and avoided looking directly at Tom. There was the silence again, and both of them seemed to be thinking about what to do, or what to say, or how to act now.

"I hope you're not, uh.." Harry said at last, "uncomfortable or something with…" he vaguely pointed at the paintings of Tom.

His eyes followed Harry's fingers to where his face was portrayed for everyone to see, and interpret however they want. All these people had a different version of Tom in their head without ever having met him at all. But somehow, he didn't mind it that much. "Oh no, that's quite alright… Actually, I think they're really nice." He said that last part a little more quietly, not sure if he should have.

The shy smile Harry gave him in response made him feel certain about the compliment, though. "Thank you."

He should leave. Tom knew he shouldn't stay and get overwhelmed by his mixed feelings towards Harry yet again. But getting a reaction out of Harry, making him regret all those years he'd spent abandoning their relationship, as well as reminding him why they would have been worth fighting for… it was just too tempting. So he said, "Homesick, hm?"

Harry had the audacity to blush. "Yeah, you see… it's been kind of lonely sometimes without Ron and Hermione, or Sirius, or… well, you."

"Huh," Tom said, "Funny that. You'd think that someone who was so eager to disappear and abandon every chance at fixing a relationship would at least be content with their decision." Because fuck it, he thought, he had spent years pretending that he didn't care about Harry leaving him, but he had been and sort of still was furious, and he had every right to express that now.

Harry sighed. "I knew you'd still be blaming me."

"How could I not? You ran away not even a month after-"

But Harry snapped then, interrupting him. "After what, Tom? Our breakup? Believe me, that was way before that." He noticed this was the first time today that Harry had called him by his name. "How could you blame _me?_ All you cared about was your company and manipulating people into getting you more money. I was lucky if I saw you once a week, and even then you were absent and-"

"Yeah, because I was busy, not because I ever stopped loving you!" 

That seemed to have quieted Harry. Whatever he had wanted to answer seemed to be stuck in his throat, and his widened eyes scanned every inch of Tom's body. It took him several moments to find his voice again, and it was broken when he did, "Maybe you should have said that more often."

And Tom knew it was true. 

He knew Harry was right, because there had been times when he'd come home late at night and seen Harry sleeping on the couch, a cold dinner for two waiting on the kitchen table. And in the beginning, he would carry him to bed then, apologise over and over again, and in the morning he'd make breakfast for both of them to make it up to him. He had felt actual remorse back then. That had been the time when the two of them had still believed in the lies they'd told themselves and each other, that they could deal with all of this and make their relationship work.

Later, not long before the end, Tom would come home and find Harry sleeping in their bed, no dinner in the kitchen, and he'd let him sleep there and use the couch himself. Because it had been easier like that, without the confrontation in the morning. 

And Tom could shoot back now. He could say, well you didn't make it easy for us either, always running off to go party with Granger and Weasley or however many boys you liked to dance with, but he knew this lackluster apology had convinced neither of them back then, and it wouldn't do that now either. 

Instead he decided to own up to his behaviour, even if it meant letting some sort of vulnerability show, and said, "I know."

"You… you _know?_" Harry probably hadn't expected an answer, especially not one like this.

"Yes. I know I shouldn't have been so distant. I always knew, and yet I didn't change because I thought you could handle it. Clearly I was mistaken."

Harry didn't answer. 

"You know, I never really understood how you could just leave me," Tom continued. "At times, I thought you were heartless. But… now, looking at all of this…" He gestured around and his eyes fixated on the painting of his hands wrapped around Harry's throat again. His voice got much quieter, "I understand. I hurt you. I…-" he looked up at Harry, and right as he said, "I am sorry", he saw a single tear escape from those beautiful green eyes.

It was like he snapped out of something then, like he had opened his heart somehow, and now it shut again. He blinked a few times and frowned. Then he said, "I will go now." Shaking his head, he turned around and started walking away.

Not five seconds later he heard footsteps behind him and Harry's voice calling, "Tom, wait!"

As the small, soft hand grabbed his own, he turned around. Harry looked unsure. "I can't believe you-... Listen, Tom, there is this, this fundraiser tonight that I'm going to and I-"

Tom quirked an eyebrow at the smaller man, who blushed slightly.

"I'm supposed to bring a date because it was sort of my idea to donate something to an orphanage here and, uh-... Do you want to come? With me? As, uhm, re-acquainted… friends, or something?"

At Tom's silence, he started nibbling at his fingernails and added, "Please?"

"Don't do that," Tom said softly, taking Harry's hands in his own to stop him from assaulting his nails. Harry stared at their hands, then into his eyes again.

Silence spread again, and Tom could see Harry's hope fade with every passing second. 

"An orphanage, you say?" he responded at last.

A shy smile spread on Harry's lips. "Yeah, well, that's… I think you can imagine why."

"Yes", Tom gave him the closest to a genuine smile he could and pulled him closer, "I think I can."

Meeting Harry again was something Tom had neither wanted nor planned. But now, he thought that perhaps, it was something that he had actually needed.

**Author's Note:**

> "Barfuß am Klavier" by AnnenMayKantereit is a beautiful German song that inspired me to write this.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, thank you so much for reading.


End file.
